In My Other Life
by peacotic
Summary: Harry's twin sister Nicole sets out on her own daunting task as Harry and his friends continue their unfruitful search for Voldemort's horcruxes. She's found an alternate way to kill the Dark Lord but will she have the strength to do it?
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any other characters created by JK Rowling.**

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><p>As I stood hidden in the shadow of Hagrid's hut, I fingered the delicate chain hanging around my neck. I'd been given the time-turner as a third year student. McGonagall made it clear that it was to be used for nothing but classes and I gave her my word, never imagining that four years later I'd be at this crossroads. It had been two months since my brother and his friends left. With no new information to go on, his search for Voldemort's horcruxes was at a standstill. While Harry, Ron and Hermione struggled to put together a puzzle that had no pieces in sight, the Dark Lord grew ever stronger. As the death toll reached an insurmountable high, desperation flooded our streets like an open sewer.<p>

There was no guarantee my plan would work. In all likelihood, nothing would change. Even if our situation was altered, the possibility existed that things would change for the worse. Time is such a fickle thing. One step forward might lead us two steps backward. These thoughts did nothing to sway me from my resolve. The fact that I had a plan put me in a better offensive position than even Harry. If there was a chance I could end this, no matter how miniscule that chance looked, I had to try.

Five turns of the time-turner's loop would land me fifty years in the past. Tom Riddle would be a student at Hogwarts. My plan was simple: kill Tom Riddle before he grew up to become Lord Voldemort.

With a feeling of reckless abandon, I turned the loop five times. The air surrounding me came crashing down as time sped back.


	2. Chapter 1

I landed in the same shadow and took a moment to collect myself. I attempted to flatten my curly red hair and smooth out my clothes. After my breathing had slowed enough to work properly, I walked back to the castle. The plan was to enroll as a seventh year student. It took me weeks to figure out the complicated charm work needed to send a letter to Hogwarts—fifty years in the past—explaining that there'd be a transfer student by the name of Sophia Stephens. The name came from a second cousin of mine who lived in America. I'd find Riddle and kill him as soon as I had the chance. After that, I'd turn the loop five times forward and return to the future. If it all turned out as I hoped, my parents would still be alive and Harry and I would be in our seventh and final year at Hogwarts, blissfully unaware of how close we'd come to having a starkly different reality.

I reached the castle doors and deftly snuck in. The only staff members I knew from this time were Slughorn and Dumbledore. Feeling that the latter would be a bit less intimidating, I headed for the office reserved for the transfiguration professor and prayed it would be his. My prayers were answered when the door swung open right as I reached it. My heart skipped a beat as Dumbledore stepped in front of me—he was fifty years younger than when I'd last seen him, his hair was a deep auburn instead of a wispy white, and he was _alive_.

"Ah, yes, right on time. Terribly sorry our headmaster is away and unable to welcome you. Sophia Stephens isn't it?" inquired Dumbledore as he ushered me into his office.

"Yes, yes! My parents send their regrets. They hoped to come with me but couldn't part from their work," I explained.

"Not a problem, Miss Stephens, we have everything in order. I must say, your transcript is quite impressive. Eleven O.W.L.s? You should prove to be one of our best students. We used your transcript to create your schedule and it seems that all we have left is to sort you." With that, he sat me down and placed the Sorting Hat upon my head. It placed me, as I knew it would, in Gryffindor.

"Excellent! I'm sure you'll get along grandly with the seventh year Gryffindors. The entrance to Gryffindor tower isn't far from here. Your belongings should be there already." Dumbledore explained how to get there from his office while I sat quietly and tried to look as though I didn't already know this information.

Ten minutes later, I found the familiar portrait hole and exhaled slowly…so far, everything was running smoothly.


	3. Chapter 2

The next day came swiftly. The previous night I had stayed up late with the girls in my dormitory. They seemed friendly enough. All of them empathized with the story I fed them about having to leave my previous school in America because of my parents' job transfer. "I can't imagine having to say goodbye to all my friends after six years…" Olivia lamented. "But everything's so different here! Even the weather!" Marcia exclaimed. I tried not to get too close, though. It would be an awkward situation if I let anything slip. That, compounded with the fact that I didn't plan to stay in this time long, kept me comfortably quiet.

It was with slow feet that we all walked to breakfast that morning. My breathing quickened as we approached the Great Hall. Would I catch my first glimpse of the seventeen year old Riddle today? My question was answered almost immediately as a group of Slytherin students came from around the next corner. I recognized him instantly—jet black hair, dark eyes, porcelain skin, devilishly handsome features and at the center of the group's conversation. His dark eyes met my equally dark ones but only for a moment. My heart caught in my throat as my group passed his…did these people have any idea what he'd become?

"Dear God he's handsome," Lauren sighed. If my classmate's comment was any indication of the rest of the school's thoughts (and I had an inkling it was), apparently not. Right on cue, Olivia started giggling, "At least he _looked_ at Sophia. That's more than he's done for most of the girls here. It's like he thinks he's too good for us." A few murmurs of assent were voiced and the conversation quickly changed to the upcoming Halloween dance.

During breakfast I tried to listen to my classmates' conversation but my eyes were drawn repeatedly to the dark pair at the Slytherin table. It appeared as though Riddle was one of the most popular boys in school. Somehow I had to get him alone so I could kill him and get back to my own time. And then there was the whole killing itself. Having never killed a person, I wasn't sure how to go about it. Stabbing with a knife seemed rather brutal, and I wasn't sure I could figure out the complicated _Avada Kedavra_ curse. Guns were out of the question—they weren't sold in the wizarding world and even if I did manage to get one, the noise would draw a crowd. Could I poison him? Where would I buy poison? I supposed I could make a fatal potion, but where? Surely a professor would recognize it. Consumed by my mission, my thoughts spun out of control as I realized just how hard this would be. Maybe stabbing was my best option, it definitely sounded easiest. All I needed was a—"Sophia!" Marcia yelled.

"S-sorry. What?" I stammered.

"Are you okay? You're awfully quiet and you look really….tense. Like you're stressed out. And you keep staring over at Tom Riddle as if he's a dementor. What's up?"

"No, no I'm fine. It's just…er….he's really handsome." It was probably the lamest excuse I'd ever come up with, but telling the truth was out of the question.

"Oh yeah, I understand. He's the kind of handsome that you get nervous just_ looking_ at, you know what I mean? Probably every female with a beating heart agrees."

"Has he dated anyone here?" I asked, trying to make conversation.

"Nah. It's like Olivia said…he doesn't pay us the time of day. Anyway, it's almost nine so we should probably head to class…it's Defense Against the Dark Arts and we have it together. Let's get going." With that, Marcia downed the rest of her pumpkin juice and gathered her books. Following her lead, I grabbed my bag and headed toward class.


	4. Chapter 3

The same anxiety-ridden thoughts filled the rest of the day. Since N.E.W.T. level examinations were higher than the standard O.W.L.s, many students saw them as superfluous and chose to forego them. This meant that the N.E.W.T. classes were significantly smaller and houses seemed to matter less since the seventh year students were together for most of their lessons. This also meant that Riddle was in every one of my classes—even the non-core ones like Ancient Runes. Realizing that I had to make friends with the boy in order to get my chance to kill him, I sat next to him in each class and hoped I didn't look too eager.

The classes themselves were no laughing matter. The other students were a month ahead of me and as I had no idea how long my task would take, I needed to buckle down and study or risk failing out of Hogwarts before I had my opportunity.

The next few days passed in the same manner—meals, classes, pretending to be interested in my classmates and their idle conversations and getting the occasional stare from Riddle all while struggling with my massive course load. The only alone time I managed was late at night. In the quiet of the library I poured myself into potions books from the Restricted Section. Having come to the conclusion that stabbing was entirely too vicious for me, I settled on the idea of convincing him to drink an undetectable poison. Slughorn, the potions professor, assumed a hands-off approach for his seventh-years: we were allowed to brew whatever we wanted as long as we turned in weekly progress reports. Slughorn, in turn, used the class time to grade papers in his office. The situation was too perfect to bypass.

And so it was on one of these late nights that I managed my first conversation with the subject of my obsession. Sitting on the floor with my back against a bookshelf, I was so immersed in the recipe for a potion claiming to cause death at the first oral drop that I never heard the approaching footsteps.

"Draught of Instant Death?" Riddle queried from behind me. "Sounds a bit…extreme. I'd hate to be one of your enemies if you plan to cook that up, Stephens." I jumped up so quickly at the sudden voice that the bookshelf gave a menacing _creak_ and looked for a moment as though it would topple over.

"What are you doing here?" I shot quickly.

"The same thing you do here every night." Make plans to commit murder? I wouldn't put it past him, though I highly doubted that's what he meant. "I like to come up with unusual potions to make for Slughorn's classes; it keeps him on his feet and out of other…business."

"Oh…yeah." What exactly was I supposed to say to that?

"You don't talk much. It's obvious you're trying to hide something. Perhaps you should try to blend in better, because all you're doing now is sticking out like a sore thumb."

"And how am I supposed to 'blend in better'?" I shot back, highly affronted at his bluntness.

"Well, for starters, you could accompany me to the Halloween dance."

I blanched. Any retorts I planned against his rude comment earlier were stolen from my mouth as I tried to make sense of this. What was going on here?

"Don't get any ideas. It's not that I…" he paused, trying to find the right word, "…desire you in any way. It would simply be…advantageous for me to bring a date, and well, you're not an idiot so the evening wouldn't be completely wasted if I had to talk with you. It would also be advantageous for you to be seen doing something besides studying. It might help your little secret, whatever it is."

I was at a loss for words. I needed to get closer to Riddle, and here he was, offering himself up like a lamb for the slaughter. It was perfect, but it unnerved me. Something was off. Lost in my thoughts, I forgot that I was still standing in front of him and that he expected me to say something.

"Well? What's it going to be? Are you going to accept my offer or just stand there like a bloody mute?"

"Sorry…yes, I'll go with you," I said as I shook my head out.

"Good. At any rate, I wouldn't have accepted a rejection. We'll meet in the Great Hall at seven thirty tomorrow night." With that, he turned on his heel and left me standing there with the potions book still in my hands.


	5. Chapter 4

Still stunned, I walked to the circulation desk and checked out the potions book. Draught of Instant Death would have to suffice. It would take four months to properly brew and I'd have to owl order and snoop around the greenhouses for many of the ingredients, but it looked similar enough to another potion that I could easily claim it was the latter—that is, until it was completed. I planned to copy down the ingredients and directions on a separate sheet of paper with the fake name on top. I'd use the copied sheet in class instead of the book. I only hoped that Riddle didn't get a close enough look to know better.

In the meantime, I had to figure things out for the dance. In less than twenty four hours I needed to find a dress and deal with the nerves that were building in my stomach. Dances were bad enough by themselves, but having to attend one with the most popular, most desired male in school? Ugh. Knowing he wasn't attracted to me didn't help my confidence much…

"What an ass thing to tell a girl after you ask her to a dance! And he had the audacity to tell me that _I_ need help with _my_ social skills!" I muttered to myself, irritated.

The next morning, as we were getting ready to spend the day in Hogsmeade, I dropped the bomb on my roommates: "I found a date to the dance tonight…"

"Oooh…Sean Marshall? I've noticed he's been giving you the eye lately…" said Lauren.

"No…but I'll give you a hint: he's in Slytherin," I said.

"Simuel Calvin?" Olivia guessed.

"Worse."

"Abraxas Malfoy?" Marcia questioned.

"Getting closer…"

"Surely not Tom Riddle?" Olivia speculated.

"Yep."

"Holy crap. I can't believe this!" Marcia gushed as she dropped her mascara. "When did he ask you?"

"Last night in the library. He snuck up behind me and scared me half to death. And it wasn't so much asking as it was telling," I explained bitterly, still annoyed at his attitude. "He had the nerve to tell me he wouldn't have 'accepted a rejection.'"

"But still! You're going to the Halloween Dance with _Tom Riddle_! So what if he was a prick when he asked you. A lot of guys can't talk to girls," said Lauren.

"Yeah, she's right. He wouldn't have asked if he wasn't interested in you," said Olivia.

"Well that's the other thing…he made it clear he wasn't into me. He told me not to get any ideas, that he didn't 'desire' me in any way. What am I supposed to do with that? He asks me to accompany him to the dance, and then he basically tells me I'm not attractive enough for him, and then he says he wouldn't have taken no for an answer." As what I said sank in, there was a moment of silence. It hurt my pride to admit he told me that, but I had to tell somebody; it was eating at me.

"I don't know what to tell you, Sophia. I don't understand it either," said Marcia. "Regardless, we've got ten hours to find you a dress. Let's get moving." With that, we finished our makeup and got dressed.


	6. Chapter 5

After a hurried breakfast in the Great Hall, we made our way to Diamonds and Pearls, Hogsmeade's only dress shop. The other girls had brought dresses from home or gotten them earlier in the month so everyone was able to help. They marched me to the fitting room and began grabbing dresses for me to try.

"What size do you wear?" Olivia asked. "What about colors? What colors do you like?" said Lauren.

"Either a 6 or an 8, and I like all colors," I replied.

I sat down and braced myself. How odd, I thought, to be sitting in this pretty little fitting room with its beaded poof chair and its mirrored walls, trying on gowns to attend a dance with Tom Riddle when fifty years in the future my brother is plotting his murder. My throat caught as I thought of Harry. We'd never been apart for so long. Sure, we had our differing interests and our own groups of friends, but we were closer than most siblings were. We were the only ones who really understood each other. We had, after all, gone through hell together at the Dursley's. We both knew what it felt like to go to bed hungry and, even worse, despised. Ron and Hermione, great friends though they were, could never comprehend what it felt like to grow up without parents and to be hated by your only relatives. Having never had to live off the kindness of others, they'd never felt that suffocating feeling Harry and I had grown so accustomed to. No, only we understood. So, though they were two of the greatest friends a person could ask for, it wasn't to their beds that he went running when he started having those flashbacks of our parents' deaths during our third year, it wasn't their counsel he first sought when he heard the prophecy in our fifth year, and they weren't who he cried with when Sirius and Dumbledore died. He was my rock, and I was his shoulder. And right now, we didn't have each other. It was with great difficulty that I fought back the coming tears.

"How's it coming in there?" Olivia said through the door. "Need any help?"

"No, it's fine. I'm getting the first one on right now," I answered.

Feeling lightheaded, I got off the poof and headed for the strapless red dress Marcia had chosen. "Ugh, absolutely not," I murmured. My breasts were too big to ever look good in a strapless, and the red was sure to clash with my hair. I opted instead for a silky, dark green halter. It was floor-length and had a rhinestone-encrusted brooch just below the bust.

"Woah," Marcia opened the door and stared, eyes wide and mouth open. "That looks amazing with your hair, and it clings perfectly to your curves...sexy!"

"Yeah, if he didn't think you were attractive before, wait till he sees you in _this_! He'll be eating his words by the time the dance starts tonight," Olivia said, butting into the little room.

As I turned back to the mirror, I couldn't help smiling to myself. Though I hadn't inherited the green eyes like Harry, I was in every other way the spitting image of Lily Potter. In addition to being in the top of her class, she was famed for her beauty. Men fawned over her, even after she'd married my father. Would Riddle be eating his words tonight? "Yes, indeed," I softly answered, smile still intact.


	7. Chapter 6

Five hours worth of hair and makeup later, I found myself walking shakily to the Great Hall. I was so nervous I could vomit. My hair was loosely braided on the sides; it flowed down my back and felt like curly corn silk. With his arms around my waist, would he notice how soft and shiny it was? I slowly closed my eyes to calm myself, but that just made me think more of the same thoughts…would he notice my long, thick eyelashes when his face is close to mine while we're dancing? Would he see the teensy, tiny freckles that dotted the bridge of my nose? These thoughts did nothing to soothe me. They only made me more apprehensive. It made me sick that I _wanted_ to be pleasing to him. This is the man who's going to ruin your life, I reminded myself, the man who will kill your parents and destroy any hope of normalcy for you and your brother…get a grip, damn it.

My heart reached record speed as I spotted him. I screamed inwardly, wanting to run away and do something—anything—that was less nerve wracking than this. Instead of running, I swallowed hard and thought of Harry. "I can do this," I whispered, as Riddle and I made our way to each other.

"Good," was all he said as he took my hand and led me to his group of friends. I couldn't help but notice how soft his hands were; with another pang of sorrow, I thought of Harry's hands, and how rough they were in comparison. Definitely the hands of a man who spends entirely too much time in books instead of doing manly things outside, I inwardly scorned.

"Ah, here we are," said Riddle as we arrived at a group of seventh year Slytherin boys. All eyes immediately turned to me. He began pointing each out, "Calvin, Nott, Mulciber, Malfoy, Dolohov, this is Sophia Stephens." Though I had a class with every single one, they all nodded to me in introduction. I couldn't help noticing how each of their gazes' lingered on me. So Riddle's little cronies will check me out, but I can't even get a glance from the man himself? Ridiculous, I thought.

Conversation turned to quidditch fairly quick, and since my date was ignoring me anyway, I decided to find my group of friends. As I turned to leave, I felt a cold hand grip my wrist. Turning, I saw Riddle take a step away from his fellow Slytherins, a look of annoyance plastered on his face. "Where do you think you're going?" he asked, his viselike grip still on my wrist. My heart picked up speed again as his dark eyes bored into mine.

"To see my friends," I replied. "The conversation here isn't exactly thrilling."

"I'd prefer if you'd stay here."

"You're not even talking to me, and this is the first time you've looked at me since I got here."

"Why does it matter? I didn't ask you to come so I could ogle at you all night. Or would you rather me have the mind of one of these imbeciles—imagining all sorts of pleasures to be had with you?" he spat.

"You have no idea they're thinking that! Your problem is that you think you're better than everyone else!"

"I have no idea, eh? I have no need to prove myself, just realize that I know things that would make your toes curl. People should be more careful with their thoughts." He gave me a menacing glare. Surely he couldn't read mine? I hadn't felt the characteristic twinge of legilimency. Besides, I'd kept my mind closed from the moment Snape began teaching us occlumency in our fifth year. Harry might've struggled with the subject, but I picked it up easily. All I'd needed was a willing teacher. Feeling assured, I came back to the conversation at hand.

"Perhaps you should be more respectful of other people's privacy," I retorted.

"I'm not having this discussion with you. Shut up and stay."

"No! Especially not now!" I stormed off, half expecting him to follow me. I glanced back after I'd found Marcia, he hadn't moved a step; he gave me a smoldering look but composed himself as he returned to his group.

"Hel-lo!" Marcia greeted me. "How's Riddle?"

"Still an ass—it's becoming the norm."

"That's ok. I lost my date, too. I don't care though; we look too beautiful to not have a great time tonight! Come on, let's find Sean and Wilson." With that, Marcia playfully grabbed my hand as we looked for the boys.

The rest of the night was amazing. My feet were killing me from dancing so much and we'd gone to the bathroom quite a few times from all the punch we'd been drinking; each time we reached the ladies' room, we'd burst into giggles as we recounted some joke or some silly thing we'd just done. All in all, the night was a success. It was with an air of exhausted contentment that I headed back to my dorm alone. I'd gotten a nagging feeling that there was some homework I'd forgotten to do and try as I might I just couldn't put it out of my mind. Marcia and Sean had begged me to stay longer, and then offered to come with me, but each time I said no.

As I walked back to the portrait hole, I was ambushed by a quiet, tall figure and forced into an empty classroom. My unknown intruder roughly pushed me against a wall and whispered "_Lumos_."

With the light illuminating his face, I gasped as I saw Riddle's eyes. Awareness washed over me as I realized there was no forgotten homework, he must've enchanted me so he could get me alone.

"I told you not to leave me, you little bitch," he snarled, his wand pointing at my throat.

"You didn't come after me…I-I-I thought it was okay," I stammered.

"I shouldn't have to come after you. You should just obey."

My legs were starting to go numb from being held against the wall, and as I took a ragged breath I breathed in some unknown, masculine scent.

"You will not make me look like a fool again, Stephens," he whispered in my ear. I almost cried out with pain as he crushed my arm. "Meet me in this spot tomorrow, same time. If you fail to make it, you might find some unfortunate things happening to you," he threatened.

He let go of me and I stumbled back to my feet. His eyes never left mine as he walked out of the classroom.


	8. Chapter 7

The next day was Sunday which meant I had the entire day to stew over the happenings of the past night and the possibilities for the coming night. Riddle had assaulted me around eleven thirty, and that meant he intended to meet at eleven thirty tonight. I couldn't decide whether or not to go. While I felt a certain amount of fear and trepidation, I knew this could be pivotal to my larger plan. Figuring that he wouldn't dare to seriously harm me at Hogwarts, I decided to meet him. I left around ten thirty so I'd have time to run by the kitchens and get a little knife. Thank God for the Weasley twins, I thought, as I made my way to the painting of the fruit bowl. Ignoring the curious stares from the house elves, I walked away with a small, deadly sharp kitchen knife stowed in my bra. A particularly helpful elf named Cork had found a piece of leather to wrap around the blade so I'd be protected from it. Though I doubted I'd get a chance to use it against Riddle, simply having it made me feel safer.

I entered the classroom to see Riddle sitting at a desk. He had lit the torches along the walls; it gave the room a warmer feel than the previous night. Not knowing what to do, I sat at the desk beside him and tried to hide my trembling hands. I was determined not to talk first. For a few moments, we just stared at each other. Finally, he chuckled slowly.

"Do I scare you, Sophia?"

"No, you're not a monster," I replied, privately thinking that it was only a matter of time. "Just a pretentious ass," I continued. It startled me that he'd used my first name.

"What's the knife for, then? If not to protect your self against some expected attack? Thought you might run across a hardened criminal on the way here?"

I stared. How did he know? As if reading my thoughts he said, "Don't marvel at how I know. Disillusionment charms are simple enough. You passed me on the way to the kitchens and I do love a bit of intrigue. Regardless, I didn't bring you here to hurt you. I just wanted to talk."

"Oh, jolly. What shall we talk about?"

"There's something about you," he said slowly.

I waited.

"Girls generally desire me," he explained.

"Yes, well, boys generally desire me. So I guess we're even on that one." At that, he looked over my face and hair, slowly coming back to rest on my eyes.

"People respect me. You don't."

"Obedience does not equal respect. People obey you because they fear what you can do to them, not because they respect you."

"Respect and fear go hand in hand. It's only natural," he replied. "Speaking of fear, that's another thing…half the time you act like I _am_ a monster, like you're just waiting for me to seriously hurt you. Which wouldn't be that big of a deal except that the other half I'm convinced you're plotting to murder me. I'd never tell another soul of my suspicions, and I could never prove them, but there's a glint in your eyes I recognize all too well, Sophia."

My blood ran cold. Not knowing what to say, I kept silent. Riddle continued, "You hate me. You've hated me from that first day when we saw each other at breakfast. You hate me so much that I suspect you want to kill me. All I want to know is…why?"

"I'd never be fool enough to attempt a murder under Dumbledore's nose," I said.

"Yes, I've always found him to be a meddlesome son of a bitch too. But again, I don't care about your murderous little thoughts. I told you, I just want to know _why_."

I had no idea where this conversation would go, but there was no way I'd reveal the truth. I inwardly cursed myself for being so obvious—I should've guarded myself more. Of course I hated him. He killed my parents and was intent on doing the same to my brother, having tried to do so on multiple occasions. He had made my world a living hell, and it didn't bother his conscience one bit. Was it possible to _not_ hate someone after all of that? Still, I should've been more guarded. He wasn't at fault for those things yet.

With that in mind, I said the only thing I could think of: "Why do you care? What do you want from me?"

He just stared at me. I was slowly being mesmerized by his eyes.

"The truth of your background, and not that cock-and-bull story you fed everyone else."

"How can you read people so well? I know you're not practicing legilimency on me, so this must all be pure observation." For a moment, I saw something in his dark eyes shift.

"What do you like to do in your free time?" he asked, ignoring my question.

I was quiet for a moment, eventually deciding that there was no harm in the question. "I love to read," I replied.

"I do, too. What kind of books?"

"All of them. I love to learn things so nonfiction is good; science and history fascinate me. But I really, really like fiction. I love getting lost in other worlds," I said, looking down. I genuinely felt that way. After we'd learned how to read, it was the only thing that kept Harry and I sane during our years with the Dursley's. We could jump into those other worlds and forget about our own, at least for a little while. In truth, the reason I loved to read was sitting right in front of me. He was the reason we were forced to live in hell, after all.

"I read many novels before I came here. It felt nice to forget the things that were happening around me. Now that I'm older, it seems silly. I read a lot, but always nonfiction. There's no point in wasting my time on something as unfruitful as a made-up story," he said.

I knew exactly what he was referring to, though of course he had no idea I knew. Harry had told me all about the memories Dumbledore had shown him of Riddle's past. It was only last year. His past wasn't so different from ours. He, too, knew what it felt like to go to bed hungry and despised. No wonder he wanted to get lost in another world.

As if reading my thoughts again, Riddle caught my eye and softly said, "I think we're more alike than either of us realizes."

We sat in silence for a few minutes until we realized it was past midnight. We got up to leave and I'd almost made it to the door when he brushed my shoulder.

"Will you meet me here again tomorrow night?" he asked. Unless my memory failed me, this was the first actual request he'd made of me. Maybe there _is_ a soul somewhere in there, I thought.

"Maybe," I replied, though I knew I'd come back.

As we went our separate ways, my mind raced with question after question. This was turning out to be an interesting parley into the past. I only hoped I was successful. If I failed, it would cost thousands of people their lives—possibly even my own. I ignored the small voice in the back of my head that pointed out the obvious: "Ah, but if you succeed, it will cost Tom Riddle _his_ life. And he's not evil _yet_."


End file.
